


Anatomy

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Father/Son Incest, Ficlet, Incest, M/M, Stilincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The sheriff’s fingers are rough and calloused. Stiles knows the map of them, where tough, worn flesh folds over knuckles and comes down over large palms.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy

The sheriff’s fingers are rough and calloused. Stiles knows the map of them, where tough, worn flesh folds over knuckles and comes down over large palms. Stiles knows the lines that trace the sheriff’s hand, where his lifeline dips then curves, long and all the way down to the sheriff’s wrist.

The sheriff’s forearms are muscular and thick, covered with fine hairs and freckles. Stiles knows them too. He’s memorized the shape and feel of them, where they lead up to crinkled, scaly elbows that bend into harsh angles. He knows what it’s like to have those sharp points digging into his back at night, when he and his father inevitably break apart from their spooned positions and end up spreading out into separate directions. Stiles can never quite figure out if that’s a forecast for what’s to come, but he tries not to think about it.

The sheriff’s biceps are strong and his shoulders are broad. Stiles has traced them with his fingers and laved them with kisses, memorizing every spot and muscle to the best of his ability. He’s followed his father’s tan skin up over his neck, where wrinkles have started to form and skin’s started to sag from age. It’s not much and it’s barely noticeable, but Stiles is obsessed with details.

The sheriff’s throat leads up to his face. Stiles knows this one by heart. He could draw it with his eyes closed. He knows the veins in his father’s forehead and the lines in his flesh. He knows the wrinkles by his eyelids and the frown lines framing his mouth. He knows the pleasant flush that comes to his father’s cheeks while the man moves against him.

Stiles feels a deep thrust break him from his thoughts. He throws his head back, tightening his grip on his father’s arms as he anticipates what the man will do next. He can hear his dad’s voice ring in his head long before it ever reaches his ears.

“ _Stiles.”_ The sheriff groans.

He’s memorized the inflection, from the barely audible ‘s’ at the beginning, where his dad’s voice is too strained and guttural, to the way the word breaks around the ‘t’ before tumbling out of his father’s mouth, quick and rough and breathless. Stiles loves it. He loves everything about his father.

Stiles tightens his legs around the sheriff’s waist, feeling the love handles shift against his thighs. He knows his dad’s a bit self-conscious about the softer areas, where age has started to chip away at his muscular frame, but Stiles finds it gorgeous. He’s enraptured with every mark, every sinew, every rivet and indent. He likes the wrinkled patches and the smooth ones. He likes the uneven lines in the man’s back and the way one leg is a bit longer than the other. He likes the way the man snores, even if it makes it difficult to sleep sometimes, and he likes the way the sheriff holds him just a bit too tightly when they make love.

Stiles blinks up at his dad, marveling at how much he loves the man. The sheriff reaches between them, wrapping his calloused fingers around his son’s member. Stiles moans in surprise and tucks his head into his father’s neck. He always forgets about this part. It’s about 50/50 on whether his father will be the one to stroke him to completion or whether he’ll remember to pleasure himself. He sometimes has a tendency to get so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t remember that he’s supposed to get off too.

Stiles feels his father’s palm work over him and bites his lip, knowing the path his dad’s fingers will take. They swipe against the underside of his cock, rubbing along the sensitive veins before moving up and touching the slit. Stiles whines, pressing a foot down into the bed sheets and arching the sole as he tries to rock into the motion.

“Daddy.” Stiles moans, knowing how his father will react to it. The man shudders, pausing a moment before touching Stiles more eagerly. Stiles usually says ‘dad’ but in moments like this, when Stiles is so overwhelmed with love and need for the man and he can feel himself so close to tipping over the edge, the sheriff’s his daddy. It would be weird if they both didn’t love it so much.

Stiles’ arm slips and he clutches at his father’s lower back, digging his fingers into soft flesh layered over hard muscle. He listens to his father’s breath rise and fall around pleased noises and mirrors the sounds with his own. He comes first, spilling over the edge between them. His dad follows after and Stiles arches back, shuddering and watching his dad’s face twist as he fills him up. He traces his fingers over the sheriff’s brow, feeling the sweaty, flushed skin of his forehead.

“I love you.” Stiles whispers.

The sheriff leans down, placing his mouth over Stiles’. Stiles knows this one too. It’s the I Love You kiss, the one where the sheriff pushes his lips passionately against Stiles, claiming his son in open-mouthed presses and licks. Stiles pushes back against chapped, pink flesh and lets himself get swept away in the depth of this thing that runs between them.

                            


End file.
